You Can't Leave Us
by pandacookienom
Summary: Hamish Watson-Holmes is sick. Very sick. But Sherlock thinks it's his fault. With Hamish in the hospital and Donovan and Anderson making things worse, Sherlock's world is crashing down. Parentlock.
1. Just a Sore Throat

"Can I come to work with you?" Six year old Hamish Watson-Holmes struggled to climb onto his Daddy's lap.

Sherlock smiled. "If it's okay with Daddy."

Hamish looked expectantly at John, who chuckled and nodded.

"Yay! Can I bring-" Hamish suddenly started coughing, interrupting himself.

John looked at his son in worry.

"What's wrong?" He asked, feeling Hamish's forehead.

"My throat is only a little sore, I can still go with Papa, right?" The six year old said.

John sighed.

"Alright, but as soon as we come home you are going straight to bed, mister." He said, poking Hamish in the stomach.

Hamish giggled and ran to his room.

Sherlock could hear him coughing as he searched through his toys.

.,.,.,.,.

"Oh no. No no _no _no no. Sherlock." Lestrade said upon seeing a six year old with a stuffed lizard arriving at the crime scene.

"Yes." The consulting detective said, acting as if he didn't know why Lestrade was upset.

"You can _not _bring children to the crime scene."

Sherlock looked at Lestrade in amusement, and decided to experiment.

"We need you in the building, and John, now." Lestrade said.

"More than you need Anderson, am I correct? ...Of course I am. Hamish!" Sherlock called.

"Papa!" Hamish let go of John's hand and ran to Sherlock.

Sherlock led his son to Anderson.

"Stay with this nice man while Daddy and I go inside. We'll be right out, okay?"

Hamish nodded as Sherlock gave him a kiss and took John's hand.

"Watch him." He said to Anderson as he walked into the building.

"Why would I-" Anderson stopped and looked at the boy next to him.

"Hi." Hamish said.

"This is Robert." He said sticking his stuffed orange lizard into Anderson's face.

"Get that _idiotic _thing away from me." Anderson said, pushing the toy.

"But it's-" Hamish started violently coughing.

Donovan walked over.

"What's wrong with the freak's kid?"

"My Papa-" Hamish struggled to say between coughs, "is not...a f-freak."

Suddenly Sherlock and John rushed out of the building.

"My god, what did you do to him?! Hamish!" Sherlock yelled, picking up his son.

He held the little boy's chest to his ear.

"John, John he's barely breathing. Call an ambulance."

Anderson raised an eyebrow and whispered to Donovan.

Sherlock whirled around and glared at them.

"And you _SHUT UP!_" He yelled, and Donovan stepped back.

"Hamish, breathe, breathe, come on, please, for Papa." Sherlock said, holding Hamish tightly.

Hamish's eyes began to close.

"No, stay with me! Hamish! Stay _with me!_"

Sirens in the distance.

Hamish being lifted out of Sherlock's hands.

Tears filling John's vision.

Now they're in the ambulance.

John doesn't know when they got in.

The doctors are taking Hamish away.

Nurses hold John and Sherlock back.

John reaches out to Hamish.

But Hamish doesn't see.


	2. My Fault

"Sir...excuse me, sir?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he jolted awake.

"The waiting room closed an hour ago...I didn't want to wake you." The receptionist said, smiling sympathetically.

Sherlock shifted John in his arms.

"We are not leaving our son. We're staying until we can see him."

"But sir-" "He's only six." "I'm sorry?"

"Hamish, our son. He's only a six year old. Can you imagine how scared he is, all alone, or how scared he'll be when he wakes up?"

The receptionist frowned. "I understand, I've got a four and a seven year old. I can try to get you two into his room."

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you."

"Name?" "Hamish Watson-Holmes." "Room 304."

"John. John, wake up. We can see Hamish now."

John mumbled something and slowly sat up.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It's two in the morning..." John said, and Sherlock stood up, pulling John with him.

"I am aware." Sherlock said, pushing the button for the lift.

.,.,.,.,

"Here it is, 304..." John said, grabbing Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock slowly pushed the door open.

A nurse jumped up from where she was sitting on Hamish's bed.

"I'm sorry, this is a private-" "We are _going_ to see our son."

Sherlock pushed her aside and walked over to the bed.

"I, er, I was about to call you up here, just as soon as I examined him!" The nurse tried to explain.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

"Papa-" Followed by a fit of coughing.

"Hamish!" John ran up to the bed as he hugged his son.

"Where am-" "Shhh, don't say anything, you'll start coughing again." Sherlock said, holding the little boy's hand.

"I'll be right back, Hamish, Daddy will stay with you."

Sherlock stepped into the hallway with the nurse.

"What's wrong with him, what does he have? Pneumonia? Flu?" Sherlock asked.

The nurse sighed.

"We don't know. We'll need to take some blood to find out."

"Why haven't you done it sooner then?!" Sherlock said.

"We, we needed parental consent, we can't just stick a needle in him and-"

"Well hurry up and take the blood then!" He yelled, turning and going back into the room.

.,.,.,.

"Um, Mr. and Dr. Watson-Holmes, could you step outside for a moment?" asked a doctor, smiling politely.

"The blood results came back. We've never seen anything like it, it seems like a mutated disease. It may have been the result of an experiment-"

"Alright, thank you." Sherlock said, turning to go back into the room.

He panicked on the inside, and felt John grab his sleeve.

"He wasn't done, Sherlock."

"Right." Sherlock replied, squeezing John's hand so he would get the message.

"Hamish should stay here overnight for a little while, just until we can figure out how to make him better."

John nodded.

"I'll go back to the flat and get his things. Sherlock, can you-"

"John, wait. Will you excuse us?"

The doctor nodded and left.

"I think..." Sherlock stopped and took a deep breath.

"I think Hamish is sick because of me."


End file.
